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Literature Text
Dear,
We had a red carnation from the corner vendor. When it was fresh it was beautiful, and we didn’t realize it was only worth five cents. Even though it only smelled like grass, to us it smelled like one of those expensive roses. I realized before you that ours was only a carnation, but I didn’t mind because simple things can be beautiful too. I can see now that you don’t agree.
We went out dancing; I wore my bright red dress and my bright red high heels. And when I danced, you said I looked like a rose, una rosa, and I pretended to believe you. But I knew I was just a five cent carnation that just happened to be wearing red. My hands weren’t soft like rose petals, my lips were only painted red, and I’ve never smelled like roses in my life. But for some reason, you saw me as a rose, your rose, and we danced with loud, happy feet until our noise woke up the sun. Those were the days of the rose, days when I loved to pretend and to make you believe I was more than a city-corner carnation. You made me elegant, you made me beautiful.
But there were moments when you saw my inner carnation poke through. It’s time for me to go, I would say, I have to go to work today. You were confused by this I know, because you don’t work. You have lots of money because of things your father did. You never had to dirty your hands because your father had done all that for you. So you let me go anyway, and I worked long days, always tired because the rose you thought I was could dance all night and not get tired. You wore me down with your long nights of dancing because you forgot that I needed the money, because you never worried about money yourself. Come, mi rosa, come dance in your red shoes tonight, you would always plead.
Maybe you didn’t consider that one day I would have to say no to you, because when I did, I saw a petal of that rose flutter down. I wasn’t such a freshly cut rose anymore, I was beginning to look like the wilting carnation I was. I saw our flower start to die, and I knew then it was only worth five cents. Those rose days were nothing more than that- days. Days end.
And so I’m putting our dying carnation out of its misery. No longer can we pretend it was worth so much, that it was actually a rose. You wore me down with those long dancing nights, and I need the money. Even if I did run away with you to be a rose, I would still be a carnation. And if I thought you took simple things like five cent carnations to be as beautiful as roses, I would go with you. But you do not love carnations who work, you love roses who dance.
The dancing rose bids you farewell.
We had a red carnation from the corner vendor. When it was fresh it was beautiful, and we didn’t realize it was only worth five cents. Even though it only smelled like grass, to us it smelled like one of those expensive roses. I realized before you that ours was only a carnation, but I didn’t mind because simple things can be beautiful too. I can see now that you don’t agree.
We went out dancing; I wore my bright red dress and my bright red high heels. And when I danced, you said I looked like a rose, una rosa, and I pretended to believe you. But I knew I was just a five cent carnation that just happened to be wearing red. My hands weren’t soft like rose petals, my lips were only painted red, and I’ve never smelled like roses in my life. But for some reason, you saw me as a rose, your rose, and we danced with loud, happy feet until our noise woke up the sun. Those were the days of the rose, days when I loved to pretend and to make you believe I was more than a city-corner carnation. You made me elegant, you made me beautiful.
But there were moments when you saw my inner carnation poke through. It’s time for me to go, I would say, I have to go to work today. You were confused by this I know, because you don’t work. You have lots of money because of things your father did. You never had to dirty your hands because your father had done all that for you. So you let me go anyway, and I worked long days, always tired because the rose you thought I was could dance all night and not get tired. You wore me down with your long nights of dancing because you forgot that I needed the money, because you never worried about money yourself. Come, mi rosa, come dance in your red shoes tonight, you would always plead.
Maybe you didn’t consider that one day I would have to say no to you, because when I did, I saw a petal of that rose flutter down. I wasn’t such a freshly cut rose anymore, I was beginning to look like the wilting carnation I was. I saw our flower start to die, and I knew then it was only worth five cents. Those rose days were nothing more than that- days. Days end.
And so I’m putting our dying carnation out of its misery. No longer can we pretend it was worth so much, that it was actually a rose. You wore me down with those long dancing nights, and I need the money. Even if I did run away with you to be a rose, I would still be a carnation. And if I thought you took simple things like five cent carnations to be as beautiful as roses, I would go with you. But you do not love carnations who work, you love roses who dance.
The dancing rose bids you farewell.
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An assignment for English. We had to write a break up letter in Sandra Cisneros' style. I think I did alright. llD
I love similes and metaphors. 8D
I love similes and metaphors. 8D
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Comments4
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Sandra Cisneros much?
This is very good... it's so... good.
Creative, aren't I? XD
We don't ever do interesting things like this in English... all we got to do regarding voice and style was rewrite the same paragraph about our weekend over and over again.
It. was. idiotic. >.<
This is very good... it's so... good.
Creative, aren't I? XD
We don't ever do interesting things like this in English... all we got to do regarding voice and style was rewrite the same paragraph about our weekend over and over again.
It. was. idiotic. >.<